


GALentine's Drabbles for My Ladies

by wakeuptothemoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gift Fic, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakeuptothemoon/pseuds/wakeuptothemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of four drabbles for my dear friends</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet's Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sailorchiron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorchiron/gifts), [Airwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airwen/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Rachel.

The doorbell at the Watson flat is off, Sherlock deduces after pressing it repeatedly.  John must have taken a cue from his friend and put the offending bell in the refrigerator.

 

Sherlock puts a brightly wrapped package down by the door and gets out his lock-picking kit.

 

Just as he is about to pop the second lock, it turns on its own, and a tired but surprised John Watson answers the door.  “Sherlock, what are you....”  His expression changes from surprise to irritation.

 

“Were you picking the lock?  YOU HAVE A KEY.”

 

“Well, I've misplaced the key, and you weren't answering the door.  You disabled the door bell, I assume?”  
  
“Yes, it woke Violet up too much.”  John moves aside to let Sherlock in.  The detective brings the package with him.

 

“What is that?” John asks as he flips on the kettle.  The flat is quiet and clean, and, besides a few soft toys and a blanket on the floor, there are few signs of a baby.

 

“She's six months today, yes?” Sherlock answers, taking a seat the kitchen table.  “Are she and Mary out somewhere?”  
  
John makes tea with automatic motions.  “Yeah, some of the other mums in the neighborhood are at the park.”  He sets a mug down in front of Sherlock and scoots a dish of sugar towards his friend.  “Is that why you're here?  You remembered?  Isn't that a bit... inconsequential?”

 

Sherlock refrains from telling John that nothing about him is inconsequential.  “Yes, of course.  Apparently parents celebrate all kinds of strange milestones with children and their development, so I assumed that you would be the same.”  Sherlock's gloved hand gestures toward the package, largish and wrapped in electric pink paper.

 

John's half smile is quite the reward.  He checks the clock on the microwave.  “They should be back soon.  Have your tea, and then you can watch Violet open it.”

 

Soon, the door opens to the combined noise of a giggling little girl and a pram and a tired mother lugging a bag.  Sherlock stands immediately when John does.

 

John scoops the little one from her pram, her blond curls framing deep blue eyes.  “There you are,” he coos, “Sherlock brought you a present!”

 

“Not a skull, I hope,” Mary says, folding the pram down and winking at Sherlock from the hall.

 

“Not yet,” Sherlock answers.  He watches John move to the blanket with Violet, setting her down on the blanket and propping her up against him after he sits.  John beckons Sherlock over.  Sherlock leaves his gloves at the table.

 

The baby makes a noise as Sherlock sets the box in front of her.  “She likes the color,” John translates.

 

“Shall I..?” Sherlock asks.

 

“Yes, go ahead.”  John takes Violet's little hands in his and moves them around.  “She's not quite able to open her own gifts.”

 

Sherlock opens the pink paper and takes the lid off of the box within.  He turns to hide the contents behind the Belstaff before turning and quickly revealing an equally pink, plush pony to the delighted baby.

 

Violet reaches out, and Sherlock carefully hands the toy to her, her little hands touching his large ones.  She hugs the pink pony to her chest, clearly very pleased.  She makes another burbling noise as John turns her and the toy to hug them close.  “Oh, you like that?” he asks her.  “Sherlock is very good at figuring out what's in gift boxes, so I'm glad you haven't learned that skill yet.”  Violet simply clutches the toy closer to herself.

 

Sherlock smiles at them both.  “I'm glad she didn't throw it across the room.  It is very... pink.”  He pauses.  “She.  She is very pink.  My research says that her name is Pinkie Pie.  There's some show about her and her friends.”

 

John laughs, and Sherlock knows that he's as pleased as Violet.  Somehow, it makes his return to 221B less lonely.


	2. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Whitney.

The hunt was stalled.

Sam'd caught a cold in Michigan, so it was Dean and Cas in the lousy hotel in the Oklahoma college town, where the ghouls had hidden themselves too well. Nothing to be done tonight.

“So, movie night?” Dean asked. “We can order pizza.”

Cas shrugged at the mention of food. “I can't bring myself to eat anything. I remember enjoying mushroom pizza very much, but I think eating it in my current state will be... unpleasant.” He paused. “Molecule-y.”

Dean chuggled and grabbed his coat. “C'mon, Cas, let's go.”

A short drive down the road sat a Family Video, well lit and well stocked. Dean gravitated straight to the new released while Cas contemplated an extremely large selection of candy, looking at it wistfully as Dean came up behind him.

“So, Skyfall?” He held up the DVD case. “I grabbed the first Hunger Games, too. I put those books in your room.”

Cas nodded. “I am concerned the sales associate is a sprite.”

“What?”

“She's very... excited.” Cas gestured toward the sales desk, where a cheery, petite, dark-haired young lady was checking out a older woman in sweats.

“So she likes her job, so what?” Dean grabbed a box of Milk Duds and some popcorn and turned to head to the counter. “And her hair's short.”

Cas shrugged. “Just a concern. I don't perceive her to have wings.”

“I think we're safe.”

The woman was starting to get loud. “What do you mean, you need ID?”

“I have to confirm that it's your account since it has late fees,” the sales clerk said in a patient, rehearsed voice. “I have to have ID to do that.”

“I shop here all the time! I just want my damn movie!”

“Ma'am, I understand that, but I have to have ID to let you take this movie.”

Cas had started to glower, and Dean put a hand on his arm. “Hey man, that's not your fight.”

“She must be possessed,” the angel replied, shaking his angel blade down into his hand. “No other explanation for such behavior.”

The woman has exploded into a rage, stomping her feet and turning to leave. “Worthless CUNT,” she shrieked as she stormed outside.

The desk clerk let out an audible sigh. Cas put his blade away and strode right up to her, Dean following him with his movies and Duds.

Cas looked right at Dean, and then at the clerk (“Whitney,” her name tag said). “No one is worthless,” he said, with such conviction that Dean and Whitney took a second to let that resonate.

“Thank you,” she said, blinking at Cas and taking the movies from Dean. “Candy's on me, guys.” She rang up the movies. “Back on Monday, please.”

“Yes ma'am,” Dean said, nodding at her. Cas gave her a grave “Thank you” before turning to follow Dean out of the store. In the reflection of the doors, Dean saw Whitney smile to herself.

Dean and Cas got into the Impala. Before backing out, Dean turned to Cas. “No one's worthless, huh?” he asked, looking at his friend.

Cas met his gaze. “No one,” he confirmed with that same surety in his voice. He held Dean's gaze until the hunter turned to make sure he backed out properly.

Dean nodded as he drove. “Thanks, Cas,” he said into the quiet.

“You're welcome, Dean.”


	3. Covers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Amber.

John wakes up and can't figure out where he is. He is warm, and the sheets around him are soft. The weight of a duvet makes it even more comfortable.

Bed, he thinks. I'm in bed.

But it's not my bed.

He remembers getting in late from a case, cold and sodden, desperate for a shower. Sherlock had pressed a glass of wine into his hand and sent him to shower and change; the detective had followed suit once John was done and warming himself by the fire.

But that was the last thing he remembered. Warmth. And he'd woken up in warmth.

He wiggles his toes in his socks and sighs. Takes a breath. Sherlock, he thinks. I'm in Sherlock's bed.

Too warm and relaxed to be disturbed at the thought, John's sleepy mind puts it together. Sherlock must have put him to bed after he'd (most likely) fallen asleep by the fire.

But where was Sherlock?

A peek at the clock tells him that's it's still early (half past five), and the door opens just as John contemplates getting up. Sherlock, in soft pajamas and a t-shirt and half asleep himself (John is shocked), comes in and rounds the bed, taking the spot next to John and burrowing himself under the covers.

“Back to sleep, John,” the detective rumbles.

“Thank you,” John answers.

There is another rumble. Then Sherlock's breathing evens out, and he's deep in his post-case crash phase.

John decides that he can discuss co-sleeping with his best friend later in the morning. He decides that he can also discuss how very much he wants to pull Sherlock to his chest and hold him while he sleeps so soundly. How much that slow, even breathing means to him.

Later. Later.


	4. Tuning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Kasey.

John had to pause in the doorway to the living room.

Sherlock was restringing his violin. He carefully turned each peg and unwound the strings from their holdings, the instrument making all kinds of creaking and groaning noises as he worked.

His hands move gracefully and gently around the curves of the instrument. John knew (John had seen) that those hand could break noses and even bend iron fire pokers. But for this curvature of wood, Sherlock was nothing but gentle. The little pile of wire ended up on the floor beneath his chair as he unwound and started to restring the violin, starting with thin, thin E string.

“John,” came his voice, “I can see you watching over there. Just come in and sit down. I'll be done in a moment.”

John shook himself out of his thoughts about Sherlock's graceful, lithe hands and took a seat in his chair.

“Anything on?” he asked, picking up the paper and sitting in his chair.

Sherlock tightened the peg on his D string. “Not currently. Solved two cases today over email. Obvious. Both cheating husbands. Dull.”

“I guess we know all about that, don't we?” John said with a smile as Sherlock finished with the G string, which made a low groan as Sherlock tightened the peg.

“Polyamorous negotiations do not count as cheating, or you and Mary both are lying to me and to each other.”

John laughed. “Sherlock!” He stood and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. “Never. We would never lie to you. Especially about that.”

Sherlock's iridescent eyes met John's. He nodded once within the span of John's hands. “Good. I detest liars.”

“You're in good company, then.” John plopped himself back down. Sherlock continued to fiddle with and retune his violin until he seemed satisfied enough to get up and use the bow to check the correctness of his work. The open notes rang out, clear and perfect.

“Since you're here,” Sherlock said, putting his violin into the open case on the floor behind his chair.

“Since I'm here?”

Sherlock knelt in front of John in a pool of light from the window, placing himself between his friend's splayed legs. John shifted, suddenly thankful he hadn't picked the newspaper back up.

The detective looked up into John's eyes. “I wish to take you and Mary to dinner this evening. It's customary to do that on special occasions.”

John ran a hand through Sherlock's impossibly soft curls. “What's the special occasion?”

“It’s been two months since you and Mary decided to add me to your… relationship,” Sherlock murmured, and John was thankful Sherlock was so close to him, that this was allowed. “I felt it would be appropriate to thank you.”

John leaned and touched his forehead to Sherlock’s. “You were already there, a part of everything. We just made it official. And we should thank you, really.”


End file.
